Chapter 2 - Eleven Missing Minutes

Dr. Reyes stabilized Kate’s arm before anyone moved her from the storage room.

He worked carefully.

A temporary splint.

Pain medication.

A sling.

No unnecessary questions.

Damon stood near the door while Matteo and Walken spoke in low voices outside.

Kate could still hear Vivaldi from downstairs.

That was the strangest part.

The gala had not stopped.

Nearly three hundred guests were still drinking champagne beneath chandeliers while her life had narrowed to a storage room, a broken arm, and the name Preston Caldwell.

Dr. Reyes finished wrapping the splint.

“You need imaging tonight.”

Kate looked at Damon.

He understood the question before she asked it.

“You are not going back to work.”

Her stomach tightened.

“I thought you said—”

“You still have the job.”

He came closer.

“You are not carrying trays with a broken arm.”

The distinction should have been obvious.

It was not.

Not to Kate.

Not after fourteen months of hospital bills.

Not after too many jobs where pain counted as a scheduling problem.

Dr. Reyes closed his bag.

“I can take her through the service elevator.”

Damon nodded.

“Private entrance.”

Then he looked at Kate.

“Your choice.”

“What?”

“Hospital first. Or five minutes here while Matteo tells us what he found.”

Kate looked toward the door.

“What did he find?”

Damon did not answer for her.

That mattered.

“Five minutes,” she said.

Matteo entered.

He carried a tablet but kept the screen angled away until Kate nodded.

“Mr. Blackwell.”

“Names.”

“Preston Caldwell arrived at 7:12 with three men in his vehicle.”

He looked at Kate.

“Evan Pierce. Miles Rourke. Carter Vale.”

Kate’s face changed at the second name.

Damon noticed.

“Miles?”

“I heard someone say that.”

“Where?”

“The library.”

Matteo continued.

“Two more men joined them after eight. Julian Crane and Noah Mercer.”

“Six total,” Damon said.

“Six we can place near Caldwell.”

Kate swallowed.

“I said maybe four more.”

“You were injured,” Damon said.

“You were not conducting inventory.”

She looked down.

Matteo went on.

“Ballroom cameras show Caldwell leaving at 9:21. Pierce follows. Vale follows. Rourke leaves from the opposite side.”

“And the east corridor?”

Matteo’s jaw tightened.

“That is the problem.”

Damon became very still.

“What problem?”

“There is a gap.”

“How long?”

“Eleven minutes.”

Kate looked at him.

“From when?”

“9:24 to 9:35.”

The storage room seemed colder.

Kate remembered the library clock.

She had seen it over Preston’s shoulder.

9:27.

Then his hand had closed around her upper arm.

Then the doorway.

Then voices behind him.

Then the wall.

Then the sound of her bone breaking.

Damon looked at Matteo.

“Camera failure?”

“No.”

“Power?”

“No.”

“Network?”

“No.”

A pause.

“Deletion.”

Damon’s voice dropped.

“From inside the house?”

“Yes.”

Kate felt the small relief she had found disappear again.

Someone had removed the exact eleven minutes in which she had been attacked.

Damon looked toward Walken.

“Who has access?”

“Security office. Estate administrator. Temporary event command terminal.”

“Names.”

Walken answered.

“Tomas. Me. Mrs. Blackwell’s administrator, Elaine Foster. And tonight, the event security contractor had limited access through a guest-services workstation.”

“Contractor?”

“Garrison Protective.”

Damon’s expression changed.

Not anger.

Calculation.

Kate understood something then.

Preston had not simply acted because he was drunk.

Someone had expected protection.

Maybe before anything happened.

Maybe long before Kate entered the library.

A knock sounded.

This time it was not coded.

Everyone looked toward the door.

Eleanor Blackwell entered without waiting.

At eighty-one, Damon’s grandmother was smaller than Kate expected a woman with that much authority to feel.

Silver hair.

Black silk.

Pearls.

A cane she rarely seemed to need.

Her eyes found Kate first.

Then the sling.

Then Damon.

“What happened?”

Damon answered.

“Preston Caldwell.”

Eleanor’s face lost color.

Only for a second.

Kate saw it.

So did Damon.

“You know something,” he said.

Eleanor looked toward Matteo and Walken.

“Out.”

Neither man moved until Damon nodded.

Dr. Reyes went with them.

The door closed.

Eleanor walked toward Kate.

“May I sit?”

Kate nodded.

The older woman lowered herself onto a crate across from her.

“I am sorry.”

Kate did not know what to say.

Eleanor looked at Damon.

“How much does she know?”

“About what?”

Eleanor’s eyes moved back to Kate.

“That this is not the first time a Caldwell has frightened a woman who worked in a room he believed belonged to him.”

The words landed slowly.

Kate stared at her.

Damon did not.

He looked furious now.

Not loud.

Worse.

“What do you mean?”

Eleanor tightened both hands around the head of her cane.

“Six months ago, a temporary server left one of our private dinners halfway through service.”

Damon’s voice was flat.

“Name.”

“Sofia Alvarez.”

“Why wasn’t I told?”

“Because she asked not to involve you.”

“That is not an answer.”

“She was terrified of what your involvement would become.”

Eleanor looked at Kate.

“She said Preston cornered her near the west pantry. She got away before he touched her.”

Kate’s chest tightened.

“Did anyone believe her?”

“I did.”

“What happened?”

“She resigned the next morning.”

Damon turned away.

For the first time since entering the storage room, he looked like a man trying not to break something.

Eleanor continued.

“I offered her legal help. She refused.”

“Did you investigate?” Damon asked.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“Nothing that could prove what she said.”

“Nothing?”

Eleanor hesitated.

“That is not entirely true.”

Damon turned back.

“What did you find?”

“The west pantry camera failed for nine minutes.”

Silence.

Kate felt cold move over her skin.

“Deleted?” Damon asked.

“At the time, security called it corrupted footage.”

“Who was the contractor?”

Eleanor looked at him.

“Garrison Protective.”

Damon took out his phone.

Kate spoke before he could call anyone.

“Wait.”

He stopped.

She looked at Eleanor.

“Did Sofia hear other names?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can you ask her?”

Eleanor studied Kate carefully.

“Yes.”

“Please.”

Damon lowered the phone.

That small movement mattered too.

He could have taken control.

Instead, he let Kate set the next step.

Eleanor rose.

“I will call her myself.”

Before she reached the door, Kate asked:

“Mrs. Blackwell?”

Eleanor turned.

“Why did you remember the exact number of missing minutes?”

The older woman did not answer immediately.

Then she reached into the small evening bag hanging from her wrist.

She removed a folded card.

Not a document.

Just a card with handwriting on it.

“I started writing things down after Sofia left.”

Damon looked at her.

“How many things?”

Eleanor’s eyes met his.

“More than one.”

She left.

Kate stared at the closed door.

Damon finally spoke.

“You are going to the hospital.”

She nodded.

This time she did not argue.

He opened the door for her.

Matteo waited outside with a wheelchair.

Kate almost protested.

Then her knees reminded her how badly they were shaking.

She sat.

As Matteo began pushing her toward the service elevator, Damon walked beside her.

“Damon.”

“Yes?”

“Was my mother really paid?”

“Before Dr. Reyes finished the splint.”

“All of it?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He looked at her.

“Because you should not have to decide whether to tell the truth based on whether your mother gets treatment.”

Kate held his gaze.

“That does not mean you own what happens next.”

“No.”

His answer was immediate.

“It does not.”

The elevator doors opened.

Warm ballroom music floated through the corridor.

Kate looked back once toward the storage room.

Eleven minutes had been erased.

Six months earlier, nine minutes had disappeared too.

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Preston Caldwell had not walked into the Blackwell estate believing nobody would believe a maid.

He had walked in believing somebody would make sure there was nothing to believe.